


The Effects of Short-Term Exposure to Guys Who Wear Too Much Black

by kisahawklin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: mcshep_match, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney needs a notary. John to the rescue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Effects of Short-Term Exposure to Guys Who Wear Too Much Black

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks go out to soleta and clavally who pulled this story out of me and then fixed my mistakes and made it better. Any mistakes left belong to me, though.

Rodney stares at the email in disbelief. A residency statement? Notarized?

The anger picks up as the disbelief fades and his minions start scurrying for cover as his voice starts getting edgier and louder. The only one who'll stick around through a full-blown rant is Miko, and she'll have a smile on her face when he's done. It's infuriating, but unfortunately she's one of the few non-moronic scientists around this place and he needs her, so he can't fire her on principle.

"Where's Elizabeth?" he snaps as he strides up to the admin desk. He can't ever remember their names, they quit too fast for him to bother to learn them. "You," he says, snapping his fingers at the older lady who's in the desk. "Where's Elizabeth?"

She turns cold eyes on him and asks with maddening slowness, "Who's Elizabeth?"

"She's new," Miko says, getting between Rodney and the woman which is another reason he can't fire her. She keeps him from killing everyone. "Here, Patti," she says, pointing to one of the multi-colored papers tacked to the cubicle wall. "There's a list of office numbers, and Dr. Weir's is at the top."

Rodney rolls his eyes at them and stamps off to her office on the second floor. _Why did I even bother?_ Chuck will only tell them she's not in for Rodney anyway.

~~~

"She's not in," Chuck says, smiling at Rodney with his especially fake grin that means Elizabeth told him not to let Rodney in.

"You and I both know that's not true," Rodney says, breezing past Chuck to open the door to her office before Chuck can get out of his chair. "Elizabeth–"

The office is empty.

"I told you she's not in," he says, smugger than Rodney's ever seen him. "She's in meetings until four, and I don't think she's planning to be back in the office today."

"But," Rodney says, deflating. She's the only one that will see how ridiculous this is, and will have the clout to make them back down.

"Sorry," Chuck says, smiling again. "Come back tomorrow."

"I _can't_ ," Rodney snarls. He glares at Chuck, testing the theory that his meanest glares melt the skin right off your face. Chuck doesn't seem fazed. Rodney sighs in exasperation. "The Just-In-Time is due _today_ , how ridiculous is that, they ask for a laundry list of improbably difficult documents and then they have the gall to ask for a statement about my residency status – and to have it _notarized_?"

That makes Chuck perk up. "Really? Who is it?"

"The National Institutes of Health," Rodney answers. "It's the grant I put in with Carson back in December – _December_! And they come looking for all this stuff in July, and oh, by the way, we need it _today_."

Rodney's just gearing up for the good part, about federal funding when Chuck says, "You know, there are tons of notaries. There are mobile ones – they'll drive to you."

"That's ridiculous," Rodney says, but without Elizabeth willing to back him up on how ridiculous this is, he's left with actually getting a notarized residency statement. "Sure," Chuck says, turning to his computer and googling. "There." He points at the screen. "John Sheppard, mobile notary. Reasonable prices."

As much as Rodney hates to admit it, Chuck has actually done him a favor, so he takes the piece of paper with the number written on it and even says thank you. Chuck grins at him – a not altogether irritated grin, and maybe he's losing his touch. He'll have to terrorize the postdocs this afternoon.

~~~

 _"Sheppard,"_ the guy drawls over the phone, the slowest greeting Rodney's ever gotten in his life.

"Yes, Mr. Sheppard, I need a notary."

 _"You've come to the right place,"_ Sheppard says, and Rodney pinches his nose in irritation.

"Wonderful," Rodney says acidly. "I need you to come to my lab and notarize me."

There's a ridiculous-sounding laugh on the other end of the line, and Rodney glares at the phone for a second before putting on his most cutting voice.

"I'm glad you're amused, Sheppard, but a million and a half dollar grant hangs in the balance here, and I need a notary public. Do you want the job or not?"

 _"Sure,"_ Sheppard says, and damn if Rodney can't hear a smile in his voice. He really must be losing his touch. Maybe that's why Miko can withstand him – he's getting old and decrepit and unable to properly harangue strangers.

_"Why don’t you give me the address?"_

~~~

He spends the hour and a half waiting for Sheppard to show up reformatting his other support document because Pamela is too new to even know what that is, much less how to manage it. He's about to tramp down to the research office to give the grants person a piece of his mind about the ludicrous idea that a scientist can be _over_ -supported when Sheppard shows up, leaning against the door of the lab in his black jeans and black t-shirt and black leather jacket and seriously, who the hell needs that much black in their life? His sunglasses and helmet are black too, the prior perched on his face despite being inside a building and the latter dangling from his fingertips with casual ease.

He nods at Rodney. "John Sheppard." Like Rodney couldn't tell that from how completely out of place he is among the white-coated lab people. "And you must be Dr. McKay."

Rodney glances around the lab, noting only Miko working – those damn techs have gone off for lunch again, after only working six hours, what kind of work ethic do these people have? – and conceding the point. "Yes."

"So what is it you need notarized?"

Rodney pulls up the short statement about his residency status and prints it out. "This."

Sheppard glances at it, a quick quirk of one corner of his mouth as he reads. "You're from Canada? Really?"

"Yes."

Sheppard looks him up and down and smiles in a way that makes him look a little stupid. "But your English is so good."

Rodney blinks for half a second, utterly at a loss for what to say. Does he need to start talking about moose and saying "eh" every few words? He doesn't speak French and he somehow thinks not even Sheppard will mistake German for Canadian French. He settles for, "thank you," and Sheppard grins even bigger.

"How long have you been in this country?" he asks, suddenly talking at twice the volume and maddeningly slowly.

Rodney stares at him. "Since I was sixteen."

Sheppard nods. "That's a long time." He grins as he's shouting and Penelope pokes her head in to see what's going on.

"Yes," Rodney answers, not sure what to say for the first time in decades. "Yes, it's been a long time."

"Do you travel back to Canada a lot?" Sheppard asks, and Rodney's just baffled at these shouted slow-motion questions, wondering if this is part of the notary process here in the States or if Sheppard is crazy and/or moronically stupid.

"No," Rodney answers, keeping the irritation in check because it's noon and he only has five hours to submit this information before his funding gets cut off and as much as he would like to fire everyone in the lab right now, he does actually like his research.

"How do I know you actually live here?" Sheppard asks, his eyes impossibly round, like this is thrilling conversation for him.

"Because I work in a lab in California?" Rodney is pretty sure the vein on his forehead is sticking out because Miko looks up and starts to smile. "What, do you think I fly back to Canada every day? It's a three hour flight – plus airport time, that's a ten hour daily commute!"

Sheppard leans in conspiratorially. "Not that I don't believe you," he whispers, "but I kinda need proof, what with this notary thing. It's required. Why don't I go with you to see your place?"

"What?" Rodney gapes. "No! Here – I have a California driver's license." He pulls out his wallet and hands over the card. Sheppard takes it gingerly, like it might hurt him.

"Oh, huh," he says. "You live in Silver Lake? Must be nice."

"It's a short commute and I don't have to take the highway," Rodney says. "So, can you do your thing on this statement now?"

"Sorry," Sheppard says, losing the fake slowness and loudness. "I'll need to see your green card."

Rodney stares at him – he's been off-balance since Sheppard slunk in the door, and he's confused beyond words now. "Why would you need to see my green card?"

"You don't have it?" Sheppard asks, suddenly looking up and fixing Rodney with a predatory stare.

"I... it's at home." Rodney swallows, trying to figure out why his throat's so dry. Clearly the air conditioning is cranked again, damn postdocs.

Sheppard slouches with his back against the door, Rodney's license twirling around the fingertips of the hand not holding his helmet. "That's a strange place for an identity document."

"I don't usually need it," Rodney gripes. "I have a California driver's license, who would need to see my permanent resident status? Besides the National Institutes of Health, that is. Damn fake federal agencies and their soft science and weird documentation requirements."

"Well, I'll need to see it," Sheppard says smugly, settling the helmet over his head, "so why don't I give you a ride home?"

"On your..." Rodney lets the sentence hang and raises his eyebrows.

"...motorcycle?" Sheppard says, the end of his sentence tipping up to something like a question.

"I don't think so," Rodney says, resisting the urge to take Sheppard's helmet off with his own two hands. "I'll drive and–"

"Great," Sheppard says. "I bet you have a nice car, too."

Rodney does have a nice car, but he'd been fairly certain Sheppard was going to follow him on his motorcycle; did he really want to leave it at the lab?

"Okay," Rodney says weakly.

~~~

"So why do you need my green card?" Rodney asks as they head off-campus and to the 210.

"Technically," Sheppard says, staring out the window, watching the scenery go by, "I need to fill out a form and copy your green card."

"What?!" Rodney can't help the growl in his voice. "A form? And a copy of my green card? What for?"

Sheppard shrugs. "Those are the rules. I have to vouch for you, so I need to see your documentation." He sighs and looks over at Rodney. "So what kind of research do you do?"

Rodney rolls his eyes. It's hard enough to explain his research to people in his field; there's no way to dumb it down enough for a black leather-wearing, motorcycle-riding slacker. "Astrophysics," he says simply, because that's usually enough to get everyone off the subject.

"Cool," Sheppard says, grinning. "So why are you getting funding from NIH instead of NASA or DOD?"

Rodney glances over at Sheppard, who gives him a quick smile and quirked eyebrow. "Just wondering."

"I'm doing a collaborative project with a friend at the UCLA med school," he answers, pleasantly surprised at Sheppard's interest. "On the effects of long-term exposure to various types of radiation."

"Cool," Sheppard says again, grinning. "What's your premise?"

~~~

By the time they get to Rodney's place, he's set out their argument, their specific aims, and gone halfway through the methodology for aim one, Sheppard giving occasional smiles and "cool"s for encouragement. Rodney can't remember the last time he enjoyed talking to a non-scientist so much.

It occurs to him, as he opens the door and lets Sheppard go in first, that he hasn't asked Sheppard anything about himself – though he's not sure exactly how exciting a life as a mobile notary could be.

"So," he says, throwing the keys down on the secretary near the door. "What about you? What do you do?"

Sheppard grins at him. "I'm a notary public," he says. "I drive around notarizing random things for people. You would not believe the things people need notarized."

"Like what?" Rodney asks, because maybe he is a little interested, and if the joke at his expense was any indicator of Sheppard's humor, he's probably got a few great stories up his sleeve.

"Well, there was this guy who needed his green card notarized," Sheppard says, grinning at Rodney, a very pleasant grin, compared to some of the others he's gotten today. "But in second place is the woman who had to declare she was single for her 401k," Sheppard says, snorting out an indelicate laugh. "When I walked up to her front door, she opened it and said, 'I DECLARE I AM SINGLE!'" He laughs again, the obnoxious laugh from the phone that doesn't sound quite so obnoxious anymore. "I thought she was going to put on a cape and fly around the yard."

Rodney laughs too, and listens to Sheppard tell stories about the weird things people need notarized and smiles for the first time in weeks. Then he remembers why they're here and shakes himself for forgetting. "Oh, sorry," he says, getting up from the couch he and Sheppard are sharing. How did they get to the couch? "I'll just go..." he points over his shoulder and turns around before he can embarrass himself further with his utter loss of brain cells. Clearly spending time with Sheppard is hazardous to his health.

He goes to his safe, pulls out the accordion folder of important documents and rifles through it, looking for the green card, wishing he was more organized about stuff like this.

"Nice bedroom," Sheppard says and Rodney jumps, sending the papers flying everywhere.

"What is wrong with you?" Rodney shouts, getting down on his hands and knees to scrape the papers together. He glances over at the doorframe where Sheppard is slouched against it like he's some kind of invertebrate. "Seriously, Sheppard, do you have some kind of posture problem? How come you can't stand up straight?"

Sheppard pushes off the door and goes into a perfect parade rest, something Rodney's seen enough to wonder more about Sheppard's background. He opens his mouth, not even sure what snide remark might come out but trusting his brain to pull through, and Sheppard says, "John."

"Excuse me?" Rodney says, stuffing the papers back in their file and getting up off his knees. It feels dangerous being on unequal footing with Sheppard.

"John," Sheppard says. "You can call me John."

"John," Rodney says, the word feeling like a foreign language in his mouth, slippery and kind of sexy.

"Yes," John says, still in parade rest. That's kind of sexy too.

It's not that Rodney hadn't noticed the general hotness of John Sheppard, it's just that he hadn't realized... "Are you hitting on me?"

John stays in parade rest but lifts one shoulder in a haphazard-looking shrug. "Good of you to notice, Dr. McKay."

Rodney's pretty sure that John's not interested in watching him put together this administrative research crap the next four hours, but...

"So, I have to tell a federal agency to go screw themselves," Rodney says, secretly thrilled that John's shoulders droop a little, "but I can probably swing some private time on the Solar System Simulator, if you don't mind waiting while I jettison my career."

"Cool," John says, the slouch coming back as he slides on his shades with a smirk.


End file.
